


hypersomnia

by PandaHero



Category: Persona 2
Genre: more angst for frankers owo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-03 23:08:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10261016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandaHero/pseuds/PandaHero
Summary: In her dreams, Anna runs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for themes of depression + some suicidal thoughts there at the end;;

In her dreams, Anna runs.  
  
She feels the wind in her hair, watches the trees blur past her, smiles as she practically flies across the pavement, in her element once more. And then she wakes up. It takes her a moment to register her reality, to remember where she really is, to again feel the dull ache and throb of her back and hips.   
  
Waking up has lately been her least favourite part of the day. She sleeps with the blanket pulled over her face, to muffle any noise. She sleeps on the couch as opposed to her bed, because it faces away from the rising sunlight. She sleeps so much _longer_ than she used to.  
  
No longer is she a night owl, up ’til dawn doing homework, still awake when her 6AM alarm begins to blare. Nowadays, her alarm clock is covered in a thick layer of dust, its batteries long since dead. She goes to bed after supper, most nights, if she feels like eating. She’ll drift in and out of consciousness until sleep finally takes her, and then, she’s _free_.  
  
Free to run, free to be _happy_. There’s no pain, there are no disappointed coaches. There is no homework steadily building, there are no filthy dishes overflowing in the kitchen sink. Sometimes, she dreams of these things, on days when she can barely stand to walk, but her sleep is mostly filled with sweet memories of what she used to be. What she could’ve been.  
  
So, it’s only natural that Anna starts to sleep _more_. It is, after all, her only source of salvation, of happiness, of anything other than pain and pity and medications. She’ll doze off at school, the teachers have stopped trying to rouse her. She sleeps during gym, hiding away in a far corner of the locker room, pretending that laying on the benches _doesn_ ’t hurt her so much. When she gets home, she’ll get a shower, gaze at her empty fridge, and sleep again. There is no point in eating healthily. Not anymore.  
  
Eventually, she stops getting up in the morning, stops going to school, stops adding to the stack of unfinished papers on the kitchen counter. Instead, she rests. She barely needs to sleep to dream now, if she stares for long enough whatever she’s looking at will melt away to thoughts and images of the track field, of fresh sneakers and new laces, of the starting gun.   
  
But, if there’s anything Anna knows, it’s that she’s not allowed to be happy, and sleep too, is eventually ruined.  
  
It happens on a sunny afternoon in June. She’s on the couch, again. The TV murmurs a news story about a kidnapping. She is dreaming. Only today, it is not a happy dream. Though it is not the usual bad dream, either; not about homework, or dishes or, something trivial like that.   
  
This dream, is about the incident. Screeching tires, hot pavement, she can’t move, _she can’t move_. The pain feels just as real, just as vivid, and she wakes with a start, clawing uselessly at her pillows. Her heart hammers, her breathing is clipped and ragged, and she wants to _run_. Her injuries still ache, and she limps, dragging one leg as she scrambles to untangle herself from her blankets and get out of her apartment; desperate to leave, desperate to move, fucking _desperate_.   
  
Her journey ends a few feet from the door. The pain is too much, it’s _too much_ , _everything hurts_. Her fingers dig into the filthy hardwood of her apartment floors and there’s nothing she can do. Her medicine is miles away, tipped over on the kitchen counter. Her phone is dead, has been for days, and is laying somewhere in her room. There’s nothing she can do.  
  
The TV continues its buzz of current tragedies. Anna wishes the car had killed her.


End file.
